


Let Me Go

by sureimsherlock (missabigailhobbs)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:44:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missabigailhobbs/pseuds/sureimsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian gets in an accident and doesn't make it. Jim doesn't handle it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Go

[Message to: Jim Moriarty]  
Hey Jim? I’ve been in something of an accident. SM

[Message to: Sebastian Moran]  
Something of an accident? What happened? JM

A semi sort of crashed into my bike. SM

Fuck. Where are you now? JM

Pinned between the truck and my bike. SM

I see. JM  
Wait, why the hell are you texting me instead of calling an ambulance? JM

I did call an ambulance. They’re here, holding me together. They can’t move me, Jim. SM

What do you mean, they can’t move you? They have to! Where are you exactly, I’m on my way. JM

They can’t move me at all, hon. It’s not safe. I’m at the corner of our street and the one of the left. SM

I’ll be there soon. JM

-Five Minutes Later-

Jim ran onto the scene, pushing past paramedics in his struggle to see Sebastian. His blood ran cold when he saw the sniper, pinned grotesquely between the smashed up motorcycle and the giant semi. Jim swallowed back bile and rushed over to him. He crouched at Seb’s side and held his hand tightly. “Tiger?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking and betraying his terror. “Sebby, are you with me?”

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open and he gave Jim as warm a smile as he could, his mouth filled with blood, but he tried. “Hey Jim,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, but it was obvious he was in terrible pain. “I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a mess, haven’t I?”

Jim stroked the bloody and sweaty hair back from Seb’s forehead, kissing him gently, tasting the coppery blood on his lips and it made him want to sob. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, right tiger?” he murmured, kissing his forehead instead. “We’re going to get you out of here and you’re going to be just fine.” Jim said the words, but he knew in his heart they weren’t true. Oh god, his poor Sebby, his beautiful tiger. He couldn’t die, he just couldn’t. 

Seb nodded mindlessly, wanting to listen to Jim, let the Irishman take care of him and not have to worry about anything for a while. He couldn’t anyway, not really. His brain had gone all fuzzy after they’d given him some painkillers, and his whole mind felt like it was wrapped in white cotton. At first he’d resisted the drugs. His father (and mother too, after a while) had turned to drugs, harder and harder stuff until he died on the floor of a crackhouse when his heart exploded. Seb had wanted to avoid anything close to this fate, and therefore had spent his life suffering through pain because he refused to take anything stronger than extra strength Tylenol after a bad injury. He’d always rationalised it that he was strong enough to take it; he didn’t need drugs to take the edge off. But when they’d offered him a shot of morphine, he’d taken it, just this once. His guts were only loosely being held in by the fender of the semi truck, after all. He deserved it. It wasn’t like he was going to live long enough to get addicted to anything in any case. 

Jim immediately rounded on the paramedics standing around awkwardly and started barking out orders. “Okay! You, stabilise his pulse. You, get his blood pressure back to normal. You and you, start working on getting him free so we can get him to hospital. Come on, move people!” He was being the terrifying Moriarty now, and all the EMTs flinched a little. 

One of them, a young man with a kind face and short brown hair, spoke after a moment. “We can’t move him, sir,” he said. “That fender is what’s holding his guts in, to put it crudely. If we move him, we condemn him to haemorrhage to death. I’m sorry if that’s a bit crude, but you need to understand the reality of this. I’m so sorry.”

Jim whirled on his, dark eyes flashing with fury. “Understand the /reality/ of this?” he hissed. “Understand the reality of the situation?” he hissed, and the young man shrank away in fear. “I understand perfectly the reality of this fucking situation. I understand that the most amazing man in the world, the man I would do anything in the goddamn world for, is dying there with his guts on the sidewalk and you are going to move heaven and earth to save him. Now MOVE!” he roared, and the paramedics scrambled into motion, though they knew it was useless. They would do their best for Seb, out of fear of Jim more than anything else. Carefully, ever so cautiously, they peeled the sniper off of the fender, wrapping gauze around his abdomen immediately to keep his intestines from literally pouring onto the sidewalk. 

They hefted his large body into the ambulance, and Jim scrambled up next to him, holding his hand. Seb’s normally tan skin was deathly pale, and it made Jim’s heart pound in anxiety for his handsome tiger. “It’s going to be okay, my love, it’s going to be okay,” he murmured into Seb’s ear as they started an IV drip and desperately attempted to keep him from dying of exsanguination on the spot. They had to work around Jim after the first time one of them tried to shove him out of the way and found themselves with a scalpel pressed against their side. They set off at top speed in the ambulance, trying to get Seb to better medical equipment as soon as they could. 

Jim stayed right by Sebastian’s side the entire time, holding his hand when he could (and a paramedic didn’t need to stand there) and murmuring soft comforts in his ear. “I love you, Sebby,” he said over and over again. “My gorgeous tiger. Don’t leave me, love. I can’t live without you.”

The blonde was only occasionally conscious, drifting in and out, but he was always aware of Jim’s small hand in his much larger one, grounding him and soothing away some of his pain. “Love you, Jimmy,” he murmured during a moment of lucidity, soon falling silent again. Within minutes, they arrived at a hospital and Sebastian was rushed inside. Jim got left behind this time, unable to keep up with the medical team running down the hallway at full speed. He was escorted back to a waiting room by a well meaning nurse, but Jim snarled at her, and she left him alone with his thoughts. 

He paced around in the room, unable to sit for more than ten seconds at a time without popping up, feeling like he was about to crawl out of his skin. He waited for what seemed like an era, though in reality it was closer to a few hours. Eventually, a tired looking orderly came to collect him. There was a doctor waiting in the room over Seb’s terrifyingly still body. 

Jim half ran into the room and he stopped dead in the doorway. “Yes?” he asked quietly, almost too petrified of the answer to ask. 

“He’s stable for now,” said the doctor, giving him the good news first. “But... his chances for a full recovery are essentially nil. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but he will never recover his full capacities, ever. He has a slim chance of regaining some function later, after extensive surgeries, all of which come with an inherent risk and years and years of occupational and physical therapy, which would be very painful and very long.”

Jim took a second to process this. “And... right now. What’s going on right now?”

“He’s slipped into a coma,” said the doctor, sincere regret in his eyes. But he understood the importance of not sugar coating things, especially when things were so severe like this. 

Jim nodded again, biting the inside of his lip so hard it bled, filling his mouth with a metallic tang. “And his chances of waking up?”

“Mediocre at best. We couldn’t properly rearrange his organs, and he sustained a severe head injury in the crash as well. I’m so sorry. Your friend is unlikely to survive off of the life support machines.”

Jim nodded, sinking down into a chair to think all of this very distressing information over. “Would you leave me alone for a minute?” he asked quietly. “I need to think.”

The doctor nodded and left him alone immediately. “Of course. Call for a nurse when you’d like to discuss things further.”

When he was sure he was completely alone, he buried his face in his hands and began to sob. “Oh god, Seb, why you?” he whispered, his voice expressing his agony. “Why you? Why the one I love, of everyone, the one person I love?”

But there was no good to come of this sobbing and wishful thinking. He rose, a slow determination in his heart. Seb looked so peaceful in his coma, like he could be sleeping, except for the already deathlike pallor settled over his tan and scarred skin. “I can’t let you suffer, my darling,” he whispered, taking Seb’s calloused hand. It was limp in his grip. “You’ll never be /you/, ever again, and you’ll just be suffering. I have to let you go.” 

James Moriarty had done a lot of very morally ambiguous things in his life, but this was the worst thing he had done, bar none. He selected a syringe very carefully from a table in the corner of the room, carelessly left behind by an exhausted nurse. He filled it with air. How poetic, he thought, to be killed by something one needed to survive. But he knew that a single air bubble in the bloodstream was enough to kill, relatively easily and painlessly. It was the best he could do for his love, his only. He slowly, reverently inserted it into the IV feed, watching the single bubble pass down and into Seb’s body. “It won’t be long now, my love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss him one more time. 

His eyes were shining with tears when Seb’s body went limp and the heart rate monitor screamed a flat tone. Jim put aside the syringe, not wanting anyone to ask questions. He sat by Seb’s side, holding his cooling hand as nurses rushed in, trying to resuscitate him, bring his tiger back, but it was too late. He was already gone. After a while, they left him alone again. 

Jim stood and kissed Seb one more time, hating the cold and stiff feeling of his lips. “I’ll see you soon, my Sebby, my tiger, my love,” he whispered, straightening and making sure he looked perfect before stepping into the hallway. He made his way home, absolutely silent. There were no more words to say anymore. 

He made his way through the silent flat, smelling Seb in the air, feeling him close once more, and he smiled. He got his personal handgun from the bedside drawer and slid into bed, like he might be going to sleep. He smelled Seb’s pillow, almost imagining him near. And as he wrapped his lips around the barrel of the gun, he was smiling. He would be with his tiger again soon.


End file.
